#medical respirator cw

[adiduck]

WIP Game Snippet (and Last Line Challenge)

So I'm starting at the bottom of my WIP Game snips this time--below you'll find my 25 sentences for Operation Groundhog AU (plus a little extra).

This is also gonna serve as my response to @frostbitebakery's tag for the Last Line Challenge!

Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like). 

Open tags for that one. I've tagged too many people recently LOL

-

It’s not the Captain that finds them later, sitting in a little break room they’re definitely not supposed to be in and waiting for news. It’s one of the Admiral’s flag aides.

LCDR Sam Silenski, he introduces himself. Early forties, maybe, boxier build of a man who spends a lot of time behind a desk and makes up for it in a gym, a dark sweep of brown hair mixed with gray. One of the more senior members of Admiral Kazansky’s staff. His handshake’s firm when he shakes Ice’s and then Mav’s hands, gives them both a smile. “The Captain asked me to grab you two on the way out and get you back to base,” he says. “There’s not going to be much news tonight.”

“But it’s going okay?” Mav interjects, when Ice can’t manage to find the words to ask.

Silenski shrugs. “I have permission to inform you both that they avoided a respirator,” he offers. “Which is good, because the Admiral--” his eyes catch on Ice, and he clearly amends what he was going to say. “The Admiral doesn’t like being out of commission that long. He’s had to call in his deputy exactly once since assuming command, and… it was… not an enjoyable experience for anyone.”

Mav snickers, elbows Ice in the ribs. Ice finds a ghost of a smile to give him.

Silenski walks them out to his car--a beat up jeep, shit all over the back seat like most cars Ice has seen. The guy looks mildly embarrassed anyway when he realizes, glancing at Ice like he’s expecting Ice to have especially stringent back seat-related standards. Ice opts not to mention that he thinks he left a gym bag with dirty clothes in his own car’s back seat before he deployed. He thinks he’s getting a sense of the mystique his older self’s been cultivating with his staff, and he doesn’t want to ruin it by being too human.

It’s a weird thing to be thinking about, but it’s better than--

Well. It’s just better.

Ice ends up taking the front seat, by virtue of having longer legs. It’s a relatively quiet trip back to the assigned housing they’d shoved Ice and Mav into at the start of last week. Mav and Silenski make small talk--baseball, and San Diego weather, and a little of what being a flag aide is like.

“I have a good job,” Silenski says, shrugging. “Good pay, interesting work. A boss who maybe could stand to take a vacation occasionally.”

“I don’t think Ice’s had that word defined for him,” Mav jokes, grinning.

“What’s a vacation?” Ice asks dutifully, and Silenski snorts.

“Alright, alright, I’ll tell them to update the betting pool,” Silenski says, and pulls up to the shitty little bungalow Ice and Mav are sharing. “Ah, Kazansky.”

Ice pauses, door open and halfway out of the car.

Silenski looks at him for a minute, mouth twisted up, and then nods. “It really is a pleasure to meet you. Sorry about the weird circumstances.”

Ice nods. “You too,” he says. “Thanks for the ride.” He gets out and closes the door before the conversation can turn to… anything else.

[please-stop-finding-me]

In the er waiting room straight up irregularly beating it and by it I mean ... My heart

[postoctobrist]

(disclaimer: i was trained combat first aid mostly to respond to mass casualty events, car accidents, and by the military to respond to basic ballistic/fragmentation injuries--in all of these cases, i was trained under the assumption that those involved would receive medical attention by a real doctor person)

re: the edge

people get a lot of conflicting advice and information regarding application of tourniquets to stop major bleeding and there's a good deal of misconceptions out there (onesuch misconception results in the [fictional] death of snowden in catch-22) that maybe i could clear up

above all else, one thing to keep in mind when treating massive bleeding is that everything you're doing is results-based. it seems obvious, but when you're trying to stop bleeding, you should work until the bleeding is decisively stopped. if it is stopped, take secondary actions to make sure it doesn't start again. as you move on to facilitate airway/respiration/hypothermia/shock, continue to reevaluate to make sure bleeding hasn't started again.

so, to properly begin, a tourniquet is applied to an extremity to halt bleeding so you the wound can properly be packed and dressed. it works through vasoconscriction--closing the blood vessels to stop the bleed. a proper tourniquet is about 2 inches wide and has a windlass to tighten it. the combat application tourniquet (CAT) is a good example and i'd recommending keeping one with some gauze and pressure dressings in your car if you drive.

let me present an idea, let's say you come across somebody in a motorcycle crash, as you're calling emergency services, you find the victim has a massive gash along their femoral artery along their leg--you don't know where that is, but the wound is exposed and is spurting bright red blood at an alarming rate (cw: blood). you put as much of your body weight as you can into applying direct pressure to the wound but it's not really slowing down. you then wrap and tighten your tourniquet around the leg a couple inches above the injury, before winding the windlass to tighten it, securing the rod into the strap. having applied it, you return to applying direct pressure and check to see if the bleeding stop, which it does.

there's work to be done, but in the meantime, you double check for bleeding coming from other places, and gratefully there isn't any. the the victim here is unconscious now, but has a pulse and good respiration. paramedics will be there within a few minutes, so you move on to packing the wound as deeply as you can with gauze, almost excessively, before securing a pressure dressing around the injury. the tourniquet is still tight, but given the timeframe here, there isn't good reason to loosen it. continuing to monitor respiration and heartrate, you cover their chest with your jacket. the emergency services operator tells you not to put them in the recovery position because you can't evaluate if there was a spinal injury in the crash.

okay, so that's like the best case scenario here, but it's really important to know where things can go wrong as well. even if you put on a proper made-for-purpose tourniquet with a windlass, there are a number of ways things could go wrong: if you don't adequately tighten it, the tourniquet is placed at a joint (like the knee or elbow) and cannot be tightened, the tourniquet becomes loose over time but bleeding is not checked, or the tourniquet is deliberately loosened because the patient doesn't like how it feels (painful, and also really tingly). all of these can be corrected (or, if not obvious, mitigated) by focusing on evaluating the original problem: is the patient still bleeding? if they are still bleeding, or if you are able to address it, continue direct pressure. if that's not working, pack the wound with gauze. if you don't have gauze and direct pressure still isn't working, repurpose any cloth you have at hand to pack the wound, and continue direct pressure. you might be picking up on a theme here.

but what if you dont have a proper tourniquet? don't repurpose something like a shoelace! a belt or strip of thick fabric around 1-2" wide may do in a pinch, especially if you have a way to wind or tighten it; however, it's not something you can really trust, and should only be applied if you can't stop bleeding by direct pressure--you'll probably need to continue to apply direct pressure, either on the makeshift tourniquet, or the site of the wound after application, if it's not working, you'll go back to packing the wound and so on--ideally you have two people so one person stops the bleed with pressure on the makeshift tourniquet and the other person is treating the wound itself here, but it turns out okay because paramedics show up in twenty minutes and the people treating it are paying close attention to the situation.

but what if you're in the edge? there's a couple considerations here, the first being the timeframe. as i understand it, tony hopkins doesn't know when he and alleged manslaughterer alec baldwin will be rescued by the forces of american air mobility, so how do you decide what to do? sources on how long you have to have a tourniquet applied to cause damage, be it from gangrene, nerve damage, necrosis, or otherwise, vary from two to twenty-four hours, which is something to keep in mind. moreover, the journal of special operations medicine (great looking website) in an abstract that i read which makes me a total expert are all like using a tourniquet in subfreezing temperatures might mean you get frostbite faster ig.

this gives a good argument for applying whatever tourniquet you can to treat the wound and, if you can control it through any other method, loosening the tourniquet after an hour or more (especially to regain mobility of the joint in the spirit of the Walk) might be your best bet for survival.

in short, massive bleeding will kill you before basically anything else after a traumatic injury. if you're ever in one of those school shootings where the cops don't do anything for hours, or in the alaskan wilderness with your in-the-closet friend who wants to fuck your wife, it might be better to risk losing complete function of a limb over your life. but remember, dont if you end up getting ahold of a CAT or other device for your medical kit, make sure you learn from proper sources how to best apply and use it, and avoid causing harm through neglect.

its like 4 am so im gonna go to bed now

this was a fascinating read I’m choosing to insist perfectly vindicates everything I said, thanks so much

[kindersurprisebacterium]

Staples (Dabi/Reader)

CW: medical procedures, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, rough oral sex, car sex, spit as lube

Gender Neutral AFAB Reader

WC: 3.7k

The smell of iron filled my nose as I soldered two pieces of titanium together. Molding them into the perfect shape to fit around an arm. Just enough space to feel comfy, yet tight enough to be of use. The titanium hook caught a glint of yellow light beaming from the overhead lamp above. A loud pounding reverberated through the room. My gaze darted toward the door, wondering if I’d mistook the sound for a knock. Furrowing my brows and standing up from my desk, I patiently waited for an affirmation. An acknowledgment that my mind wasn’t slipping. And it came. A harsher, angrier knock echoed around me. I started toward the door, stretching all four of my arms above my head. twisting the knob and pulling the door open, my gaze settled upon crimson eyes and a bloody mess. A man, who looked to be a quilt of purple and pale skin, and a familiar face.

“You got blood all over my door,” I huffed as I used three of my arms to lift the limp body. Warmth trickled down my torso as the man’s blood soaked into my shirt, turning the once pristine white fabric into a splotchy mess of red.

“I’ll pay you whatever. I kinda need this guy.” Tomura followed behind me, peering over my shoulders. His brows knit together, lips pressing into a thin line. I shot him a vacant glance as I set the body in my arms on a stainless steel surgical table.

“Two hundred fifteen thousand,” I muttered.

“What?! That’s way more than-”

“After hours and cleaning fee, jackass.” I huffed. My eyes drifted to a rip in the man’s jeans. Soaked with deep, coagulated blood. High on his thigh, and close enough to make my eyes widen as I realized just how close he was to death. The man gritted his teeth, hands attempting to grasp at the wound. I swatted his fingers away and turned to Tomura. I threw him a clean rag as my other hands dipped into the box of surgical gloves. I slid the latex over all of my fingers with a snap and began sifting through a pile of equipment. My fingers settled on a needle, grasping the plastic in my hand. I watched as Tomura placed the rag over the man’s leg, pressing down on the wound. He writhed, body thrashing against the table. I turned, shifting my focus to the refrigerator. Pulling the door open, my eyes scanned across rows and rows of neatly categorized vials. My lips moved in a wordless speech as I read the labels, stopping once I reached a vial of morphine. I plucked the bottle from its place, pinching it between two fingers, and shifted it to my palm. The chilled suspension pricked at my skin as I rolled the bottle between my palms, slowly, so as to not provoke any air bubbles. Tilting the vial upside down, I uncapped the needle and sunk the tip of it into the silicone cap. I pulled back on the plunger, drawing up the liquid. I chose a larger dose. Enough to send him into a nice high, but not enough to suppress respiration. I flicked my finger against the shaft of the syringe and approached the table. Using my other hands, I pulled the tourniquet tight around his arm. Pressing my fingers into his skin, I poked and prodded, hoping that a vein would show itself through the mess of burned skin that adorned his arm. The man shifted, eyes focused on the needle perched between my fingers. I pressed a free hand into his chest, holding him still. My eyes caught a glimpse of something, just enough to make me confident. A small, protruding, branch, just above the pit of his elbow. I swiftly grabbed an alcohol wipe, tore it between my teeth, and coated his skin with the substance. I lined the needle up with the vein, hopefully, a vein, and pushed through. I gently pulled back on the plunger, only to be met with a rich red. Slow-moving blood filled the tip of the syringe. I sighed, knowing I was in a vein, and pushed down, injecting the morphine into his system. His resistance stopped. I watched as his head lolled to the side. Pressing two fingers into his wrist, I felt for a pulse, a pulse which met my touch with a strong, pounding beat. I withdrew the needle, placing a cotton ball in its stead and slowly moving his arm, folding it to keep pressure on the vein. Two of my hands grasped at his belt, sliding the leather through his belt loops and leaving it to the side. The buckle clattered against the concrete floor. I undid his button and began pulling the denim down his legs to expose the wound. Tomura moved to the side, watching as I discarded the denim, tossing it onto the floor. I was met with a pair of black boxers that had flames running up the legs, and a wound that was spilling blood onto his marred skin.

“Nice panties.” I huffed, grabbing a pair of tweezers and a dish from a tray. I pulled the overhead light down above my head, further illuminating the mess of damaged flesh. And then I saw it. Past the layers and layers of shredded skin and muscle, was a small glimmer of silver, coated in dried, flaking blood. I sunk the tweezers into the wound, pushing past the edges of ripped muscle fibers. The man thrashed against my touch, his leg pulling away from my hand. I shot Tomura a glance, one that could communicate more than words. He stepped toward the table and held the man back. He dug his heels into the man’s shoulders. The man cried out as I grasped onto the bullet. My tweezers retreated from the wound, bringing the intact bullet along with it.

“Just one?” I asked, not looking up from the wound.

“Mhm.”

I set the dish aside, the steel clattering against the tray. Glancing at the sea of titanium in front of me, I decided to use a staple gun over stitches. I grabbed the gun, shifting it in my hands. With tweezers, I pinched the skin of the wound together. Lining the end of the gun up to the slit, I pushed down on the trigger. The machine clicked as it pushed the small metal staple through his skin. A guttural cry lurched from the man’s mouth, fading into silence. With a free hand, I checked his pulse again. Still strong, although he’d most likely gone into shock. I cursed at myself for forgetting to buy anesthetic. I looked up from the wound, eyes scanning across shaking gloved hands.

“He’s fine,” I muttered as I pushed a second staple into the man’s skin. Taking advantage of the stillness of my patient, I swiftly added a third staple, tugging the wound closed into a bulging seam. I pressed a cotton pad over the wound, curling gauze wrap around the damaged limb. I sighed and pulled my gloves off, tossing them toward the trash can. They landed on the floor, splattering blood onto the concrete upon impact. Tomura approached the surgical table, fingers grabbing at the man.

“You’re not moving him.” I huffed as I walked away toward a sink. I turned the faucet on, letting the cold water wash over my skin. I scrubbed the blood from my hands, digging my nails into my skin to scrape the dried flecks away.

“What do you want me to do?” He said softly.

“Wait a good twelve hours…minimum,” I mumbled as I turned off the sink. “Go get a coffee or go to an ATM and get my damn money. I don’t give a fuck what you do. But if he rips his staples out you’re gonna be in hot shit.”

“Well, what are you gonna do? With him, I mean.”

“Give him a good nap. At least I can make sure he’s healing from here.” I crossed two of my arms over my chest and walked back to the table. Tomura turned and slowly made his way to the door. The room was still, filled with a silence only broken up with soft music. I grabbed the man’s wrist and pressed my fingers into his skin. While the shock had lulled him into a catatonic state, his body was pushing forwards. I could feel the blood thumping against his arteries. I pulled back, only to slip my arms underneath his body. I lifted him off of the table and started off down the hallway. Encroaching upon a door, I turned the knob and stepped into the room. I set him down onto the plush covers of my bed, with another arm I grabbed a towel off of the nightstand and laid it out under his wound, gently elevating the limb off of the mattress. I draped a blanket over him, moving the fabric up over his hip so as not to obscure my view of his leg. He was still, body wrapped in the holds of a high that lulled him into a deep slumber. But he was alive. Femoral intact. I dropped my body onto the couch beside my bed. Kicking my shoes off of my feet, I sprawled out across the cushions. Stretching out my aching arms before wrapping them around my torso as sleep tugged at me. Pulling me closer, and closer, into darkness.

Heat. It lapped at my skin, ripping me from my slumber. My eyelids fluttered open, only to be met with a flurry of cerulean. My torso shot up off of the couch as my eyes settled on the figure in front of me.

“Who the fuck are you,” the man spoke in a deep voice, seething with rage. Lifting up his palm, he revealed a flame, close enough to make the air waver with heat. I pushed his wrist away, the heat of his skin singing my fingers.

“The person who just performed surgery on you,” I huffed and laid back down on the couch. “You kill me and you’re killing yourself. I'm the one who takes care of procedures for the league.” The flame faded, receding back into the man’s palm. His expression softened, brows raising from their furrowed position.

“Where’s Shigaraki?” He asked in a soft voice, just loud enough to prick at my eardrums.

“I told him to let you rest,” I explained, stretching out my limbs, the ache in my muscles fading. The man looked down at his bandaged thigh. A faint layer of red soaked into the bandages. His fingers tugged at the wrap. I leaned forwards, swatting his hands away from the wound. He pursed his lips and threw his body onto the bed, groaning loudly and throwing his head back.

“Where’s my shit?” He spat, arms crossing over his chest.

“Down the hall.” I lifted a finger and pointed to the door. His gaze followed before dropping back to the ceiling.

“You’re not gonna get it for me? Since I have to rest, you might as well.” His chest rumbled as he chuckled, the baritone rattling the walls. I clicked my tongue and sighed, sitting up off the couch.

“You decided to wear jeans and shoes to a gunfight, that’s your problem.” I slid my hand into my pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

“Can I have one?” The man asked, holding out his hand.

“As long as you got a light.” I plucked a cigarette from the pack and handed it to him before taking another and perching it between my lips. A blue flame erupted from his index finger. He held the flame to his cigarette, waiting until the glow of embers blossomed from the end. He took a drag and moved his finger to me. I could feel the heat radiating from him, bathing my skin in warmth. I pulled smoke from the cigarette down into my lungs, holding it and sinking into the feeling of my tingling fingers. Static washed over my brain as I let the smoke trickle from my lips.

“What’s your name?” The man spoke up. My eyes scanned his form. He sat on the edge of my bed, one leg up on the mattress. His wrist rested on his knee. Smoke seeped from the end of his cigarette.

I told him my name, “What about you? I’ve been calling you ‘flame panties’ in my head since I got you on the table.” He chuckled, lips curling up into a smile.

“It’s Dabi.”

He stood in my doorway. Shirt soaked in blood. Eyes half-lidded.

“Can you fix me up?” He stated plainly with a deep voice that filled my ears to the brim. I stepped aside, letting him come inside. I watched as he approached the table, hoisting himself up on his hands and sitting back on the cold steel. He gripped the hem of his shirt and pulled the fabric over his head. My eyes caught the silver barbells pierced through his nipples, then trailed along his torso. The seam between burnt and clean skin had split. I pushed my hand against his chest, moving him to lay back. I picked up my staple gun and tweezers and worked to pull the skin together and line the gun up with the seam. I pushed down on the trigger. A strained noise escaped his chest. I moved my tweezers across and lined myself up for another staple. The metal pierced through his skin, pulling the seam closed. He gripped my free wrist and tugged my hand toward his chest.

“Fuck.” He huffed. I soothed my hand over his chest, observing the difference in texture across his skin. We stayed like that for a moment, soaking in the silence. Until he sat up. My hand dropped back down to my side.

“About payment.” He muttered. “Can I Take you on a date instead?”

I finished off my yakitori skewer and brought my drink up to my lips.

“How’s your gunshot doing?” I asked, peering at him over the rim of my glass. I set it down on the table with a soft clink.

“S’fine. I know how to take care of wounds.” He looked down at me through half-lidded eyes. His cheeks were beginning to flush from the alcohol in his system.

“Why’d you come to me then?” I rested my chin on my hand, elbow digging into the table.

“For this.” He chuckled. He swung his arm around me and leaned in close.

“Did me calling you flame panties get you all hot and bothered?” I said with a smirk. He laughed, leaning in closer. His breath fanned over my face. I pressed my lips to his, my palm cupping his face. He worked his lips against mine, hand skimming up my thigh. I brushed my tongue against his bottom lip, urging him to open up. His lips parted and I took the opportunity to slide my tongue into his mouth, curling around his own. He let out a soft noise. The grip on my thigh tightened, nails digging into my skin.

“Can I take you back to my car?” He mumbled against my skin.

“How romantic.” I laughed lightly and placed a hand over his.

He pulled his car into an alley and shifted into park. His headlights went off, keys clinging as he pulled them out of the ignition. I kicked off my shoes and crawled over the center console. I spread out in the backseat and pulled my jacket from my shoulders. He pulled open the back door and leaned over me, not bothering to close the door behind himself.

“Let me suck you off.” I pushed a hand into his chest. He smirked and sat back, watching as I dropped to my knees in the cramped space between the front and back seats. I tugged his belt through the buckle and pulled it through the loops in his jeans.

“You’re pretty eager, huh?” He watched me as I undid the button and slid the material down his hips, just far enough to get to what I needed. I tugged his boxers down. His cock broke free of its restraints, bobbing and hitting his abdomen. Silver barbells ran up the length, adorning the vein that ran down the center. At the top of his flushed cock was a ring. I stuck my tongue out, running it across the heated skin, flicking at the head. His body twitched, jaw going slack. I wrapped my lips around the head and dipped down, swirling my tongue around the length as I bobbed up and down.

“Fuck, that’s it, baby.” He moaned, fingers gripping my hair. I looked up at him through my eyelashes, pools of cerulean watched as I worked away. I hollowed my cheeks and bobbed faster, pulling pretty little sounds from his chest. I wrapped my hand around the remaining length that couldn’t fit in my mouth and stroked in sync with my movements. His hips bucked up into my mouth.

“Yeah, suck it, fuckin suck it,” he groaned, pistoning his hips into my face. I stroked faster and flicked my tongue at the underside of the head. With my other hand, I grabbed onto his balls, shifting them in my hand.

“Fuck, fuck!” A growl ripped itself from his tongue as he relentlessly fucked my throat. Suddenly he pulled my head back. Saliva dribbled from my mouth, making a sloppy mess out of my face.

“I’d rather cum somewhere else.” He said through heavy breaths. His fingers pulled my hair, urging me to stand up. I followed and found myself being pressed against the seat. He yanked my jeans and underwear down my legs, pulling them from my feet and letting them drop onto the floor. His fingers skimmed up my cunt before settling on my clit, moving in slow circles. My hips quivered, bucking into his hand. He chuckled, the fingers from his other hand circling around my entrance. He slowly slid inside, thrusting in pace with the circles he drew across my skin. A stream of moans slid from my mouth. I gripped the door handle as my hips stuttered.

“Quite the reactive one, aren’t ‘cha” He laughed and moved faster, pressing harder into my clit. The muscles in my stomach clenched as his fingers pulled me closer and closer to a peak. My face heated up, beads of sweat dropped from my hairline and down my chest. My body began to fill with warmth, drenching my skin with desire. I let my voice go. Loud noises erupted from me as my pleasure began to overflow.

“You gonna cum?” He asked with a lust-soaked voice.

“Harder-” I choked out between pleas. He thrusted the digits harder into me, fingertips curling up to brush against the electric spot within me. I cried out, head clattering against the door as I threw it back.

“That’s it, cum for me.” The feeling in my body overflowed and poured out of every inch of me. I shuddered and clenched around his fingers. A flood of pleasure pulsated through my head. My eyes rolled back, back into my head, turning my vision black.

He didn’t stop. Instead, a warm, wet stimulation replaced his thumb. He gripped my thighs, pulling each leg over his shoulders.

“C’mon. Give me another one, baby.” He spoke against my core. The vibrations sent jolts through my body, ripping me through a second orgasm. I jolted up. My voice burned as I screamed. I gripped at his hair, pulling him closer to my weeping cunt. His tongue didn’t stop. My hips spasmed and pulled away from his mouth. His fingers withdrew from me, leaving a string of slick in its wake.

“On your knees, baby,” he motioned for me to turn with his fingers. I flipped onto my knees, my chest pushing into the soft material of the seat. My head pushed hard into the door. I pulled the door open, pushing it into the brick wall of the alley. I looked over my shoulder, watching as he spat into his cock. using his hand, he slicked up the length and slowly sunk into me. The stretch ached, burning in my stomach as he stretched me open. He groaned as he pushed in, inch by inch.

“Fuuuuck,” he drew out, “so fuckin tight.” He pulled back, and then sharply snapped his hips back into place. I bit down on the seat, saliva spilling from my mouth. He thrusted roughly into me, his thighs slapped against my ass. He gripped two of my arms, lifting my chest off of the seat. He hit deeper inside of me from this angle. The head of his cock dug into my cervix. A blend of pain and pleasure shot through my body. My voice burst through my chest, coming out as sobs and whimpers. He pushed his hand into the soft flesh of my stomach and moaned. He moved to grab my hand and bring it to my stomach. I could feel the stretch and pull of my insides through my fingers. My insides thumped against the skin like a distorted heartbeat.

“Like how deep I’m fuckin you? Can you feel me stretching you open?” His speech mixed with breathy moans, raising in pitch with every breath. My eyes rolled to the back of my head, tugging at the tendons. My lungs were paralyzed with pleasure, moans turning to breathless, silent screams. The sensation numbed my brain, the only thoughts I could have, the only thing I could focus on, was the cock spearing my insides, driving me into warmth. A warmth that licked at my skin and blossomed inside me.

“Fuck, squeezin’ me like that. Gonna fuckin’ cum!” His voice strained, hips stuttering. Warmth coated me, filling every inch of my insides. He seized hold of my wrists, sending my body careening toward the seat. We sat in humid silence. Sweat and condensation clung to my skin. And then I felt his fingers grip my ass, spreading me apart. I caught a flash in the corner of my eye.

“Fuckin’ hot.” He muttered.

I twisted the knob, pulling my front door open. And there he was again. Soaked in rainwater and dripping blood, his cerulean eyes met mine.

“Is it prostitution to pay for staples with sex?”

Masterlist

[eponymous-rose]

Pet health/medical cw!

Had a little scare with Clara today - brought her in to the vet to get a new lump I found this morning looked at (fine needle aspiration revealed a likely benign cyst, just gotta keep an eye on it and get it removed if it starts bugging her)... and the vet found a heart murmur. Obviously my first thought was Hector's whole situation, but this was a very minor murmur and the xray looked great (neither of which were true of poor Hector, who had a VI/VI grade instead of Clara's II, and his x-rays showed a visibly enlarged heart). So now poor Clara gets a barrage of tests to make sure everything's okay (obviously want to rule out anything serious, but it's also important for stuff like how well she can tolerate anesthesia down the road and/or whether she might have to start medication).

Blood tests should be back tomorrow or Wednesday to rule out anything systemic, and the vet suspects that'll all be fine, which means we'll probably want to get her heart imaged just to rule out any structural problems or heart disease.

The odds are in favor of something relatively minor since she's young (turns 4 in June), at a healthy weight, and is behaving normally (including sprinting up and down stairs after her toys. Consistently measuring a resting respiration rate of 20‐24 throughout her adult life as well!). Also has visited the vet on average twice a year (due to minor issues or moving vets), including two months ago, and has never had this detected despite some extra long listens that vets have done at my request after Hector. She's a very high-strung cat and her pre-vet chillout dose of gabapentin was a bit late today, so she was pretty keyed up and stressed, which can exacerbate these things. Vet wasn't too concerned but was glad I was on board with all the due diligence stuff.

So.... yeah! Stressful day, still gonna worry, but overall it looks like things are probably all good, and even if they're not we likely caught whatever it is pretty early.

Also important update: she now weighs 7.51 lbs! Very very tiny but a healthy weight for her size... and put on a little bit of weight since her last vet visit, so eating well!

[the-whumpening]

The Caged Tiger | Part 3

Prev | Masterpost | Next

CW: forced nudity, medical whump, humiliation, dehumanization, noncon touching (non-sexual)

-----------------------------

Faye dries Ash off and lugs the basin to a drain across the room. When she returns, Ozmund hands her a roll of measuring tape and strange metal calipers; she quickly sets to work detailing every specification of Ash’s body. As she dictates the numbers, a floating quill magically transcribes them in Ozmund’s book. At one particularly embarrassing measurement, Ash can hear Ozmund mutter under his breath, "I always wondered if it was barbed . . . "

When Faye is finished with her work, Ozmund saunters over and places two cold fingers against Ash's jugular; after a minute of stern silence staring at his pocket watch, he moves his hand to Ash’s sternum and continues to focus intently. In such close proximity, his spice-laden perfume stings Ash's nose. He tries to quell the trembling beneath his skin—the last thing he wants is to show fear—but even his teeth are chattering against his locked jaw.

“Respiration and pulse are elevated,” Ozmund dictates to Faye—or perhaps his magic quill? Ash isn’t sure. Unperturbed, Ozmund jams a finger in Ash’s mouth, pulling up his lip to expose his gums and teeth. Ash is too stunned to even be offended. “Gums are pink and”—he pokes at them—“react appropriately to stimuli. Teeth, though excessively worn, indicate an omnivorous diet. Canines are defined and enlarged; we’ll have to get a mold of those later. Surprisingly little sign of disease.”

He shakes his hand after removing it from Ash’s face, a glimmer of green magic fluttering in its wake. His book returns to his hand, and he tucks it securely under his arm.

“Tidy up and sanitize everything, please, Faye. He seems dehydrated; give him a vial of Devil’s Herb before you return him to his stall. For now, we’ll maintain the usual feeding cycles and adjust as needed.” Faye nods and gives a polite bow as Ozmund exits the room. He pauses in the doorway, then turns to Ash. “A little extra protein, perhaps. You’ll need your strength.”

What the hell just happened? Dumbfounded, Ash is paralyzed in place; he barely notices when Faye approaches him with a small vial of yellow-green liquid.

“It’s not dangerous, I promise,” she assures him, unplugging the cork and holding it to his lips. “It’s just an herbal tonic. We only call it that because it tastes . . . well . . . ”

He can already smell the acrid odor, and every fiber of his being wants to refuse to drink the foul concoction. Ozmund’s threat looms heavily in his mind, though—just stay alive. Surely he wouldn’t kill you this quickly . . . Hesitantly, his jaw quivering with resolve, he accepts the putrid potion. Immediately, his throat tries to reject the piss-flavored horror, but he forces it down, jabbing his elbow into the wall behind him to let out his disgust.

“I know, I know,” Faye quietly apologizes. “It’s an . . . acquired taste. But it’ll help you sleep and stay healthy.” As kind as she’s been to him, Ash is glad his voice left him long ago; if it hadn’t, he’s sure he would say something he’d regret.

As instructed, Faye unlatches his chain from the wall and leads him back into the small enclosure. He notices a pile of soft hay has been placed at one end—there’s even a modest woolen blanket and a set of rough cotton clothes. Faye redresses him in the fresh clothing, then attaches the chain to a low ring by the hay. From such a low position, his movement is restricted; he can’t stand all the way upright or reach the door. Before leaving to continue her work, Faye sets a tray in front of him. Raw meat is stacked in a surprising quantity beside a bowl of thick vegetable stew and a heel of bread. Surprisingly . . . hearty, for a prisoner. And yet, the only water offered to him is in a small trough attached to the wall.

The dichotomy gives him whiplash—on the one hand, Faye treats him quite a lot like a human, capable of reason and deserving of pity, at the least; on the other, Ozmund seems to view him as purely a beast, kept in a stall like a horse and forced to crawl on his hands. Ash doesn’t even want to dwell on the humiliating examination he’d been put through.

But then, Ozmund hasn’t been quite as cruel as he expected, either. Why hasn’t he hurt me yet? Other than making me fight Owen, which I would’ve done anyway given the chance. He’s healed me, given me plenty of food . . . What game is he playing? What the hell is he planning? I don’t understand . . .

Curled up in the warm hay, the Devil’s Herb pulls Ash deeper and deeper into unconsciousness. With Ozmund out of the room, his tensed, shaking muscles finally relax, and he falls asleep. In the comforting darkness, pleasant images flash before him, settling on a fantasy he often returns to when he imagines his future: instead of the cold and fearful dungeon, he's warm and safe in his bed, Evius at his side and tiny Zephyr cuddled between them. A family—different than he expected, but exactly what he dreams.

[lenniershairlessredacted]

when I get home from a shift and get a glimpse of my reflection and the respirator marks still on my face some 30 minutes after I took it off, there’s a perverse part of me that thinks I want to get them tattooed on after this is all over

[ashintheairlikesnow]

The Men Keep Falling

For @whumptober2021 day 30: Ghosts

CW: Car crash aftermath, combat PTSD flashback, immortal whumpee, vampire whumpee, description of car wreck injuries, some referenced gore, anxiety, panic, negative stimming

Happens simultaneously to this piece where Jake crashes his car

-

California, Present Day

They move past him in the dark.

Chris fights against the current of a river of men with rifles gripped in their hands, starlight glinting off the goggles on their gas masks and dully lighting their battered, bent helmets, their breaths muffled and somehow still deafeningly loud. 

They wash around him like water slowly wearing at rock, they brush against him like cold feathers against too much skin. There is a burst of rifle-fire and someone near him falls, he never sees the man’s face. 

There are too many faces.

There are too many dead men.

“Medic!” His voice cracks, it’s rough, and there is dark blood running in a trickle down the side of his head as the wound there - from cracking against the glass window, fracturing his skull - throbs.

He doesn’t feed enough anymore for it to fix itself quickly.

“We need a medic!” He cries, but they don’t listen. 

They can’t listen. 

They can’t stop. 

Their eyes show through their goggles, wild and white-rimmed , mad with fear and fury. The gas rolls in a fog around him, prickling and stinging. It was subtler in life, but now as he stumbles through half-formed memories it’s thick as pea soup, faintly greenish.

It doesn’t even slow the infantry racing headlong into the darkness, disappearing into the woods. They shout, dim and faint or deafeningly loud, they scream, they fall. 

Shells scream to earth and burst in explosions that rattle him down to his fingernails, sending him scrambling for cover under bushes or behind the trees. There are voices calling everywhere, a cacophony. 

Medic, medic, medic!

I’m down!

Mama...

Help!

Où est mon fusil?!

Please, water... water... mother, water, please...

Maman!

S-s’il te pl-

Hilf mir... bitte...

S'il vous plaît, je ne peux pas respirer!

Mutti...

Mama...

Shouting orders and locations, warnings and last words, and it’s all too much sound, it’s too much, but Jake is hurt back at the car and Chris has to get through the crush of soldiers to find a medic to help him.

He doesn’t have his uniform any longer - they took it from him when he came back, took it and everything to do with it. They told him he was a traitor, a deserter, and then… then he broke out of the jail and ran. It hadn’t been made to hold vampires. 

“Please. Bitte, s’il vous plait, pl-please, please, please help, help me, my-my friend, my friend needs help-”

No one even looks at him beyond a glance. They have no life to spare to help him save another. These men are all dead already, they just don’t realize it. There were always so many men who ran to fight who never came back.

Jake needs help, but the vampire boy’s medic bags are missing because he isn’t a soldier any longer. Traitor, deserter, fiend, demon, evil no matter how he’s tried not to be, but not a soldier.

Not a medic, not any longer.

He stays on his knees, looking up at the army as it flows, a thousand men heading into the jaws of death for little more than blasted bare earth to show for their victory. It’s a victory they won - a war they lost - a hundred years ago, but still they run and fire and fight, inside his mind.

“Medic,” Tristan Higgs whispers, rocking forward and back, forward and back. He shakes his head, rocking forward until he knocks it against a tree trunk, then again. Again. Again. His hands move through the air, jerky motions like he could will himself to have wings if only he tried hard enough, trying to push the energy and the noise out of him, so he can remember how to think.

His head throbs and his skin itches as the wounds heal over, broken arm shifting back into place, cells repopulating to knit back together, a head wound going from seemingly mortal to a simple lump to nothing but the smeared blood. The bruises marked over him, though… they only slowly recede in a stripe from the seat-belt across his chest and hips, dug into his neck. They take their time. 

It should be nearly instantaneous, but the blood bags never work so well as living blood does.

It hurts.

Chris staggers back to his feet, stumbling with his leg dragging through the woods, determined to find a medic among the dead.

There’s a light, he thinks, somewhere far away through the trees. He moves towards it, tripping on branches on the ground, shuffling through fallen leaves. He looks down and sees the bodies of the men who just ran past him, bloodied corpses. They look at him now, but they don’t see him anymore.

Some of them survived long enough to rip off their gas masks, take one final deep breath of fresh air. He checks them, one by one, but he can’t feed off of any of them - his hands move through them like they’re made of chilled air and little more. 

They’re not really here, and he needs a body.

“Medic. Please, please, a medic-”

He checks the corpses but never finds the telltale armband. He never finds the bags of bandages, the liquor, the clear liquid to pour over the wounds. He keeps moving, shivering, trembling so he trips every few feet. 

Around him the trees loom heavy in the darkness, weighed down with leaves. The shells should be breaking them to nothing, leaving only stumps and skeletal sticks behind, and yet somehow he doesn’t see it.

He is here and not-here, he is in the 21st century and 1918, he is both and he is neither. He is a demon and a boy, damned with certainty for what’s he’s done. 

There is no more hope for him.

But Jake needs him. 

“Medic!” He screams, one final time, stumbling out of the woods into a clearing. There’s a farmhouse with a light on, just one. It’s two stories with the flat sides, and he races for it, still limping heavily - it takes so long for broken bones to knit back into place when you can’t sit or lay down to let it happen.

He ignores the itch and the pain, grinds his teeth against it, and throws himself at the window. 

His palms smack into the cold, cold glass. It’s flat and cool. The army moves behind him, they fight in the clearing, pitched rifle battles. Bullets fly everywhere, the noise is tremendous, but Tristan sets his jaw and smacks into the window again.

“S-S'il vous, vous, v-vous, vous plait! S'il vous plait! J’ai, j’ai, j-jai-jai-jai besoin d'aide! Besoin d’aide! S’il te plait!”

He sees a shadow from inside, an old man moving towards him, eyes widened in alarm. He bangs on the window again, frustrated. He can’t come in unless the old man lets him, but he doesn’t want in, he wants only to find someone to help Jake before it’s too late.

The man’s mouth moves, on the other side of the glass. His voice is soft and muffled, though he shouts, and Chris can just barely hear him over the sounds of the battle. “Son? Are you quite aware it is the middle of the damn night?”

Chris nearly cries with relief. He speaks English, Tristan doesn’t have to stumble through his terrible halting broken French and hope they understand enough of it. 

“I, I need a medic!” He shouts, bangs on the window one more time, and then turns away, looking back over his shoulder. He shudders, watching a shell explode. It’s only a few feet away, it should shred him to pieces even a vampire’s body can’t recombine, and yet… nothing happens. He looks down, and he’s still here.

The old man pushes the window open, and the shriek it makes as an ancient frame slides against the pane is worse than the sound of the shell. Tristan has to shake his head to get the weight of the sound off his skin, has to rock a little, letting his hands move to shed it. 

“Y’need a what?” 

“A medic! Please! I, I’m with the 307th, K Company. He’s been hurt up on the, the-the-the-the… the road! The, the road, up the road! He needs a medic! I, I don’t have m-my uniform, don’t, don’t have it, but he needs help! Please, sir! Send a medic, a, a medic, please!”

“Who needs help? Son, you’re not making sense-... there’s no need to shout, I can hear you just fine-”

“We’re, we’re trapped! They’re firing! He, he he he he needs a medic, a, a medic...” Tristan stumbles away from the old man and runs back into the woods, with the old man calling behind him. He hears a door open and close, but he doesn’t look back. 

He has to get back into the fight.

He’s a part of them, even if they hate him.

He still cries out, hoping against hope someone will answer. “Medic, please, please, a medic! Please!”

Another shell, deep within the woods, and he drops to the ground flat on his stomach, clapping his hands over his head, screaming into the earth as the shell deafens every sense he has but fear and the dead space inside him where his heart would be pounding if it still could.

The shells come in a cacophony, sound that seems to come up from beneath the earth as much as from the sky, and Tristan screams until the soil beneath him is wet from his tears and his wounds have all healed themselves.

He doesn’t realize he isn’t making a sound.

Around him, the men keep falling, the way they are always falling in his nightmares, and he can do nothing to save them. 

Tristan looks up and sees Johann staring down at him, hands pressed to his stomach through his shirt, blood bubbling up between his fingers and running out of his mouth. His eyes are dark and glassy-gone, distant, staring far beyond Chris as he drops to his knees, then collapses to lie on his side.

Help me, Johann cries, his voice bouncing around the trees, somehow louder than the artillery barrage. There is so much blood. He can’t smell it. Tristan, help me, please, I am not ready to die-

Chris can do nothing to save him.

He can only watch the ghost of Johann Albach die.

-

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump @thefancydoughnut @whump-tr0pes @crystalrainwing

[punksarahreese]

I might not get another chance for recurrence?👀

Hehe

Uncertainty | Recurrence

Cancer!AU; Ava makes a leap of faith after a bad thing happens

Prompt: “I may not get another chance.”

Word count: 1451

CW: cancer talk

Part 2 of Collapse

***

This was something Sarah had feared since Ava first said the words. It was never a dealbreaker, she didn’t dwell on the idea because she knew it would drive her insane, but it was a worry. Ava meant the world to her, she had become so important to her in such a short amount of time and her love grew greater as they became closer. Ava was so strong, so confident, and her past only proved how far she had come to get to where she was. She had been doing so well, since she was fifteen years into her remission the only thing they ever had to worry about was her missing ribs and minimized bone density. It was all supposed to be okay, Sarah had been so confident, but her hopes were shattered when Sam found her that day.

“Doctor Reese,” she had caught up to her in the cafeteria and Sarah was confused, “I need you to come with me.”

“Doctor Zanetti, I-”

“It’s Ava,” those words had her attention in milliseconds, “She collapsed.”

Sarah had almost cried right then and there, terrified for the wellbeing of her girlfriend. Still, Sam had taken her hand and tugged her out of the room, knowing she needed to be with Ava in that moment. Everything was so uncertain, especially since they didn’t know why she collapsed, and both of them feared for her. The two weren’t close, only friendly because Ava gave them a common relation, but they were here for each other in this. Sam knew if this was bad news that Sarah would bury her own fear for Ava’s sake, so she silently made note to check up on her too.

Ava was in an ER bed, an oxygen mask over her face and her eyes half-lidded. She was clearly medicated, barely noticing Sarah had entered the room until she came over to the bed. A gentle hand on top of hers got through to her, though, and Ava looked up at Sarah weakly. She was embarrassed, that was obvious, but her breathing was too shallow and ragged for her to make any believable excuse for her being there. Something was wrong, they both knew that, and they could only wait for the worst.

“What happened?”

It was Connor who answered, walking into the room again, “After a surgery I went to ask her about a case. We were walking to the ward and she collapsed, her respiration was really low.”

“Chest… tube,” Ava muttered as she gestured vaguely to the plastic tube that Sarah hadn’t seen sticking out of her gown before. She looked at Ava incredulously, knowing that her flinch from that morning had been way more than just a strained rib. Hindsight was 20/20, though, and all Sarah could do was sigh and lean a bit closer to bonk her head lightly against Ava’s. She needed to be close to her, to be sure she was okay; it was all she could do.

“Fluid?”

Connor nodded but didn’t say anything, just leaned heavily against the wall across the room. He wasn’t there as a doctor, she realized, he was there as a friend. Sam had stayed outside, citing that it was too cramped in the room and she didn’t want to make Ava uncomfortable. They all knew she hated this, the worry and the coddling, but it was all they could do.

“Best case scenario is pneumonia, then,” she concluded with a shaky sigh, making Ava tug on her wrist.

“H-hey,” she took a deep breath that Sarah could hear rattling uncomfortably in her chest, “I’m... fine.”

“Ava, I had to shove a plastic tube into your mediastinum less than 45 minutes ago,” Connor retorted incredulously, “You had to have known something was wrong.”

Sarah looked at her pointedly but didn’t add to that, because she didn’t need to be chastised or embarrassed anymore. Ava had a habit of pretending she was okay until she wasn’t and this was just another one of those times. She was used to pain, she spent half her childhood and adolescence in pain, so of course she was used to it. Ava didn’t like to appear weak and to her this was probably nothing, even though they all knew the implications.

“I didn’t want to assume the… the worst,” she shrugged, “I’m alive, for now.”

“Ava, don’t,” Sarah warned, not ready to even think about what she meant by that. Of course Ava was assuming it was back, even though pneumonia would make more sense. It was cold and viral pneumonia was going around the inpatient ward, she probably caught it when doing post-ops. That’s all Sarah could tell herself because she was too afraid to admit what else might be happening.

“Sorry…”

“You’re okay,” Sarah leaned down to press a kiss to the top of her head, “Just… you’ll be fine, okay?”

“I’m fine, darling,” Ava concluded, the sure nod she gave Sarah was enough to soften her and ease her nerves.

“Gross,” Connor rolled his eyes as the brief affection, “I’ll go check on the CT.”

When they were left alone, Ava shifted a little on the bed and looked up at Sarah. The space she made was a peace offering, an apology for hiding her pain and for making light of the bad situation. It was also a silent request for comfort, even though she wouldn’t ask outright in a situation like this. She needed Sarah, she needed to feel grounded and safe in so much uncertainty. It was what they both needed and it’s why Sarah didn’t hesitate to sit down on the uncomfortable gurney mattress beside her.

Ava leaned into her immediately, hiding a flinch when she jostled her chest tube. Sarah just wrapped an arm around her, mumbling a “be careful,” into her shoulder.

“Sarah?”

“Yeah, Avey?”

“I-” she sighed shakily and held out her hand, waiting for Sarah to take it. Their fingers laced together as perfectly as they always did, a familiar pressure that soothed them both. Sarah waited for her to gather her thoughts, knowing she was probably terrified and trying to make light of it all to cope. This was hard on her, sure, but Sarah couldn’t imagine what Ava was feeling right now.

“I’ve got you, okay?” she said gently, “Whatever this is, I love you, Ava.”

That had Ava squeezing her hand, a shy sound escaping her as she looked down. She nodded and then glanced back at her with a little smile. Sarah wasn’t sure what she was thinking at that moment but the words that came out of Ava’s mouth had her in shock.

“I want to marry you.”

“A-Ava I-”

“I’m serious,” she added firmly despite the way her breathing was uneven, “I love you and… I may not... get another c-chance to say that. So yeah, I do want… want to marry you.”

“God, you will be the death of me,” Sarah muttered as she hid her face in Ava’s shoulder, even though she knew she had already seen her embarrassed blush. She wasn’t upset, she honestly felt her heart swell knowing Ava wanted to marry her, but the situation was hard. She didn’t want either of them to think about a future where they couldn’t spend it together, even though the threat was looming over them.

“Don’t say that,” her words were a little muffled, “You have every chance, okay? You’ve made it this far and I’m sure as Hell not giving up on you, so you better not either.”

“Sarah…”

“Hey, I want to marry you too,” she added pointedly, “So you will keep your stubborn ass alive, won’t you?”

Ava grinned at her, mood immediately improving as she took off her oxygen mask to lean forward and steal a kiss from her lips. Sarah just laughed a little, kissing her back gently. Despite everything, this was the kind of comfort and reassurance they both needed. Whatever happened they were together and they would get through it. Ava certainly wasn’t going to miss a chance to see Sarah as a bride, her bride, that was for sure.

It was short lived, though, because Sarah knew she was struggling to breathe enough as it is. She urged her to put the mask back on, though she did press another kiss to Ava’s forehead to appease her. Ava compiled without complaint, just happy to know Sarah was there. Despite all this uncertainty, one thing she was sure of was that she would marry Sarah Reese one day; not even cancer would stop her.

[focailmarbh]

'numb' with henrik? i love your writing!

Numb -  deprived of the power of sensation; deprived of feeling or responsiveness

cw: torture, ableism, emotional abuse, hypothermia, Anti being a creep as always 

                                                       -----

Black. His fingers are black and blue. His cheeks and lips are covered in light frost. The cold concrete floor and open basement window offers no relief from the frigid winter raging outside. 

Henrik is curled in a ball, too weak to even shiver. “Master... m-m-master...” he mumbles under his breath, a desperate cry to his captor, his torturer. “Anti please... dying, I am d-d-dying...” His lips are blue and he can barely feel his mouth as he cries. 

Anti had chained him to a poll in the dingy torture room, beaten to hell and starving. “You have to be good for me Ticci. You did a bad, bad thing didn’t you? So you’re going to sit down here and fucking fix your act before I kill you for being a traitorous little bitch.” All Henrik did was not put his scalpel back after removing a bullet from Jameson’s stomach. He has been in the basement three days. 

Ticci cries. The tears only freeze his face more. Henrik’s medically trained brain can tell how low his circulation is, and how weak his pulse is. The all too slow ba-bump of his heart rings in his ears. “D-d-d-dying...!” he sobs weakly. His head is foggy and he can barely control his numb, blue lips. The camera in the top corner of the room blinks green, a wide, distorted light through Henrik’s foggy vision. “Anti... Anti bitte...” he slurs. 

Henrik fights to stay conscious, body wracked with shivering, teeth chattering. His respiration is barely present, chest heaving thinly. “Ch-ch-chase...” he mutters deleriously. “Mauschen I want my blanket...” Henrik is so confused, why doesn’t his friend answer? 

A warm hand touches his cheek, blueish with frost clinging to it. “Chase..?” Henrik chatters out, blurred vision seeing recognizable yellow-green hair and pale, freckled skin. Oh but he could nearly cry. 

“Henrik~” purrs his voice. 

The wrong voice. The wrong eyes. Not his brother. His captor. The monster. The pain of it all is too much. 

Henrik wants... sleep. He slumps against the pole, head lolling out of the monster’s electrified hand. “Want my blanket mauschen...” he whispers, as the world darkens and slips away. 

The camera blinks green and red. 

                                                    ----

“Ticci?! Ticci! Henrik!” The voice of his captor rings with near-genuine concern as Henrik slides slowly back into consciousness. It takes a while to become aware enough of himself to open his eyes. “Ohh, my little dokdok, you scared me.” The captor strokes his hair, runs his fingers over Henrik’s lips. 

Wait- Lips! Henrik starts up, he can feel his lips! His fingers though... they can barely move. As he moves them, he feels the mattress below him, and the five blankets wrapped tightly around him. His pinkies, however, feel no sensation at all. Henrik panics, trying to sit up, trying to escape, to run to his medical equipment. But the monster forces him down to the bed, shushing. 

“No no, dok. You need to lay down don’t you. Poor little dollie, you nearly escaped, didn’t you?” Anti’s eyes are black, black like a woefully empty sky, and Henrik falls under the gentle hypnotism, whining under his breath. “There’s my good Ticci. You need to warm up, warm up and feel all better.” Anti strokes his puppet’s hair, gripping at it tightly. 

“Have you learned your lesson, Henrik?” Anti says, Henrik’s name spit like a slur out of his green-hued lips. “Never going to try to kill your little brother again, right?” Henrik looks up at his captor, eyes dazed by rewarming and hypnotism. Rather than respond, he simply buries himself into Anti’s chest, eyes closed tightly, his mind far, far away from himself. 

Anti stares off at nothing, already pondering what tortures and experiments they can try tomorrow while his dollie is this weak. Anti sighs, kissing his puppet’s forehead. “There’s my good boy.”

[leebird-simmer]

Psychology Test Prep, Illustrated

{Chapter 3, Part 2}

The medulla is an extension of the spinal cord into the skull that coordinates heart rate, circulation and respiration. Beginning inside the medulla and extending upward is a small cluster of neurons called the reticular formation, which regulates sleep, wakefulness, and levels of arousal.

Behind the medulla is the cerebellum, a large structure of the hindbrain that controls fine motor skills.

The last major area of the hindbrain is the pons, a structure that relays information from the cerebellum to the rest of the brain.

The tectum orients an organism in the environment; the tegmentum is involved in movement and arousal.

The cerebral cortex is the outermost layer of the brain, visible to the naked eye, and divided into two hemispheres.

The subcortical structures are areas of the forebrain housed under the cerebral cortex near the center of the brain. They include the:

1. Thalamus: relays & filters information from the senses, transmits information to the cerebral cortex.

2. Hypothalamus: regulates body temperature, hunger, thirst, and sexual behavior. Part of the limbic system (along w/ the hippocampus & the amygdala).

3. Hippocampus: critical for creating new memories and integrating them into a network of knowledge so they can be stored indefinitely in other parts of the cerebral cortex. Part of the limbic system (along w/ the hypothalamus & the amygdala).

4. Amygdala: plays a central role in many emotional processes, particularly the formation of emotional memories. Part of the limbic system (along w/ the hypothalamus & hippocampus).

5. Basal ganglia: a set of subcortical structures that directs intentional movements.

Other parts of the forebrain include the: 6. Corpus callosum: connects large areas of the cerebral cortex on each side of the brain and supports communication of information across the hemispheres. 

7. Pituitary gland: manages the body’s overall hormone production; sends hormonal signals to other glands in the endocrine system.

The endocrine system is a network of glands that produce and secrete into the bloodstream chemical messages known as hormones, which influence a wide variety of basic functions, including metabolism, growth, and sexual development. Some of the main glands in the endocrine system include the thyroid, which regulates bodily functions such as body temperature and heart rate; the adrenals, which regulate stress responses; the pancreas, which controls digestion; and the pineal, which secretes melatonin, influencing the sleep/wake cycle.

A. The occipital lobe processes visual information. It contains the primary visual areas.

B. The parietal lobe carries out functions that include processing information about touch. The parietal lobe contains the somatosensory cortex.

C. The temporal lobe is responsible for hearing and language. The temporal lobe contains the primary auditory cortex.

D. The frontal lobe has specialized areas for movement, abstract thinking, planning, memory, and judgment. The frontal lobe contains the motor cortex.

Association areas are composed of neurons that help categorize & make sense of information registered in the cortex. Neurons in the association areas are usually less specialized and more flexible than neurons in the primary areas. They can be shaped by training & experience to do their job more effectively.

Mirror neurons are active when an animal performs a behavior, such as reaching for or using an object, and are also activated when another animal observes that animal performing the same behavior.

A gene is the major unit of hereditary transmission. Genes have been defined as sections on a strand of DNA (deoxyribonucleic acid) that code for the protein molecules that affect traits.

Genes are organized into large threads called chromosomes, strands of DNA wound around each other in a double-helix configuration.

Epigenetics is the study of environmental influences that determine whether or not genes are expressed, or the degree to which they are expressed, without altering the basic DNA sequences that constitute the genes themselves. The environment can influence gene expression through epigenetic marks, chemical modifications to DNA that can turn genes on or off. There are two widely studied epigenetic marks:

A. DNA methylation: There are special enzymes, referred to as epigenetic writers, whose role is to add methyl groups to DNA. Although adding a methyl group doesn’t alter the basic DNA sequence, it switches off the methylated gene.

B. Histone modification involves adding chemical modifications to proteins called histones that are involved in packaging DNA. We tend to visualize DNA as a free-floating double helix, but it’s actually tightly wrapped around groups of histone proteins. Whereas DNA methylation switches genes off, histone modification can switch genes off *or* turn them on. But just like DNA methylation, histone modifications influence gene expression without altering the underlying DNA sequence.

DNA methylation studies with rats provided the foundation for more recent studies with humans showing a role for epigenetics in the persisting effects of childhood abuse on adult men. Related studies suggest that the effects of early experience are not restricted to a single gene, but occur more broadly.

Heritability is a measure of the variability of behavioral traits among individuals that can be accounted for by genetic factors. Heritability is calculated as a proportion, and its numerical value (index) ranges from 0 (no genetic contribution to individual differences in the behavioral trait) to 1.00 (genes are the ONLY reason for individual differences).

Scores of 0 and 1.00 are theoretical limits rather than realistic values; almost nothing in human behavior is completely genetic OR completely environmental. For human behavior, almost all estimates of heritability are in the moderate range, between .30 and .60.

Heritability has proven to be a theoretically useful and statistically sound concept in helping scientists understand the relative genetic & environmental influences on behavior. However, there are four important points about heritability to bear in mind:

1. Heritability is an abstract concept. It tells us nothing about the *specific* genes that contribute to a trait.

2. Heritability is a population concept. It provides guidance for understanding differences across individuals in a population, rather than abilities within an individual.

3. Heritability is dependent on the environment. Just as behavior occurs within certain contexts, so do genetic influences. For example, “intelligence” isn’t some fixed, objective quality. People are intelligent within a particular learning environment, a specific social setting, a family environment, a socioeconomic class, and so on. Heritability, therefore, is meaningful only for the environmental conditions in which it was computed. Heritability estimates may change dramatically under other environmental conditions.

4. Heritability is not fate. It tells us nothing about the degree to which interventions can change a behavioral trait. Heritability is useful for identifying behavioral traits that are influenced by genes, but it is not useful for determining how individuals will respond to particular environmental conditions or treatments. CW/TW: gore, traumatic brain injury

Before his accident, Phineas Gage (1823-1860) had been a mild-mannered himbo, a handsome hard-working man of the rails. But on September 13, 1848, Phineas was in Cavendish, Vermont, packing an explosive charge into a rock crevice, when the powder exploded, driving a 3 foot 13 pound iron rod through his head at high speed. As you can see, the rod entered through his lower left jaw and exited through the middle top of his head. 

Incredibly, 25-year-old Phineas lived. But the destruction of his frontal lobe made him irritable, indecisive, irresponsible...not like his old self at all. His case study was the first to allow researchers to investigate the hypothesis that the frontal lobe is involved in emotion regulation, planning, and decision making. Furthermore, because the connections between his frontal lobe and the subcortical structures of his limbic system were affected, scientists were able to better understand how the amygdala, hippocampus, and related brain structures interacted with the cerebral cortex.

I just wanna take a moment to put some respect on Phineas Gage’s name. Frequently in the annals of psychology, we just hear the doctor’s story; the patient is nameless, faceless. Phineas became the exception because his accident was so grisly. It seems almost impossible for him to have survived. He became a medical curiosity, a sort of sideshow...but he deserves better than that. Let’s talk about the rest of his life:

1. Phineas was the eldest of five children. We don’t know much about his early life, other than he was literate. 2. He is known to have worked on construction of the Hudson River Railroad (near Cortlandt Town, New York) and by the time of his accident, he was a blasting foreman. He was known to be a “great favorite” among his men. 3. He probably survived because he had a blacksmith make a custom tamping iron for him, without the usual bend or “claw.” 4. When the doctor came to inspect his wound, Phineas joked with him, and was explaining to passerby/bystanders at his hotel what had happened. This was while he had a visibly pulsing brain and was vomiting blood. 5. It took him about 10 weeks (November 25) to recover sufficiently from this injury so he could return to his parents’ house in New Hampshire. 6. By late 1849, he felt well enough to work as the owner of a stable & coach service in Hanover, New Hampshire. 7. In August 1852, Phineas was invited to Chile to work as a long-distance stagecoach driver on the Valparaiso-Santiago route. This seems to have helped him recover to a noticeable degree, as it provided both structure/routine and an opportunity to socialize with a wide variety of passengers. A day’s work for him would have been a 13-hour journey over 100 miles of poor roads, often in times of political instability or outright revolution, and all this in a land whose language & customs were foreign to him. 8. He did this job for seven years, until his health began to fail mid-1859. At that time, he left Chile for San Francisco and recovered under the care of his mother and sister, who had relocated there around the time he left for Chile. 9. “Anxious to work,” he found employment with a farmer in Santa Clara, but in February 1860, he began to have epileptic seizures, and lost his job. As the seizures increased in frequency and severity he "continued to work in various places [though he] could not do much".​​ 10. On May 18, 1860, Gage "left Santa Clara and went home to his mother. At 5 o'clock, A.M., on the 20th, he had a severe con­vul­sion. The family physician was called in, and bled him. The con­vul­sions were repeated frequently during the suc­ceed­ing day and night.” He died during a seizure, in or near San Francisco, late on May 21, 1860.  He was buried in San Francisco's Lone Mountain Cemetery.

The portrait that emerges is that of a young man with indestructible pride, a man determined to support himself, even if it killed him, which it probably did. He deserves a better reputation than he’s been given.

Electroencephalogram (EEG)

Computerized axial tomography (CT) scan

Magnetic resonance imaging (MRI)

Diffusion tensor imaging (DTI) is a type of MRI used to visualize white matter pathways, which are fiber bundles that connect both nearby and distant brain regions to each other. DTI measures the rate and direction of diffusion or movement of water molecules, which reveal where a white matter pathway goes. Scientists can use measures based on the rate and direction of diffusion to assess the integrity of a white matter pathway, which is very useful in cases of neurological & psychological disorders.

Because DTI provides information about pathways that connect brain areas to one another, it’s a critical tool in mapping the connectivity of the human brain and it plays a central role in an ambitious undertaking known as the Human Connectome Project. - This is a collaborative effort funded by the National Institutes of Health that began in 2009 and involves a partnership between researchers at Massachusetts General Hospital & UCLA, as well as another partnership between researchers at Washington University & the University of Minnesota. - The main goal of the project is to provide a complete map of the connectivity of neural pathways in the brain: the human connectome. - The researchers have made some of their results publicly available on their website (www.humanconnectomeproject.org), where you can find more of these beautiful color images of some of the connection pathways they’ve discovered.

Positron emission tomography (PET)

1. A harmless radioactive substance is injected into a person’s bloodstream. 2. The brain is then scanned by radiation detectors as the person performs perceptual or cognitive tasks, such as reading or speaking. 3. Areas of the brain that are activated during these tasks demand more energy and greater blood flow, resulting in a higher amount of radioactivity in that region. 4. The radiation detectors record the level of radioactivity in each region, producing a computerized image of the activated areas.

Note that PET scans differ from CT scans and MRIs in that the image produced shows activity in the brain while the person performs certain tasks.

Functional Magnetic Resonance Imaging (fMRI)

- detects the difference between oxygenated hemoglobin and de-oxygenated hemoglobin when exposed to magnetic pulses. - Hemoglobin is the molecule in the blood that carries oxygen to our tissues, including the brain. When active neurons demand more energy and blood flow, oxygenated hemoglobin concentrates in the active areas; fMRI detects the oxygenated hemoglobin and provides a picture of the level of activation in each brain area. - fMRI can also be used to explore the relationship of brain regions with each other, using a technique referred to as “resting state functional connectivity”. As implied by the name, this technique does not require participants to perform a task; they simply rest quietly while fMRI measurements are made. - Functional connectivity measures the extent to which spontaneous activity in different brain regions is correlated over time; brain regions whose activity is highly correlated are thought to be functionally connected with each other. - Functional connectivity measures have been used extensively in recent years to identify brain networks. For example, functional connectivity helped to identify the default mode network (DMN), a group of interconnected regions in the frontal, temporal, and parietal lobes that is involved in internally-focused cognitive activities, such as remembering past events, imagining future events, daydreaming, and mind-wandering. - Functional connectivity, along with DTI (which measures structural connectivity), is used in studies conducted by the Human Connectome Project. It also has potentially important applications because researchers believe that advances in understanding brain connectivity can enhance our ability to predict & characterize the clinical course of brain disorders, such as Alzheimer’s.

Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation (TMS) 

[channelguest]

The Good Doctor Season 3 Episode 9 – Le Quotidien du Tourisme

WATCH The Good Doctor Season 3 Episode 9 « Incomplete » Online Free HD. Series 3 – The Good Doctor Drama, Episode « Incomplete » | 42 min | 00:42:26 | 2019-11-25 | | Total Episodes .

Original Title : The Good Doctor Season 3 Episode 9 — Incomplete Genre : Drama Air Date : 2019-11-25 Watch this link! : https://bit.ly/2QOjqtO

Overview : Shaun is ready for the next step in his relationship with Carly; however, he continues to struggle as they grow closer and more intimate, and is dealt some troubling news about a deeply personal issue. Meanwhile, a young patient must decide on a treatment that could save her life or possibly destroy her marriage.

À lire aussi

What happened in this episode?I have a summary for you.

Tags: The Good Doctor, The Good Doctor S3E9, The Good Doctor Season 3, The Good Doctor Episode 9, The Good Doctor Series 3, The Good Doctor Season 3 Episode 9, The Good Doctor Series 3 Episode 9, Watch The Good Doctor Season 3 Episode 9 Online, The Good Doctor Season 3 Episode 9 Download, The Good Doctor Season 3 Episode 9 Link, The Good Doctor Season 3 Episode 9 Watch Online, The Good Doctor Series 3 Full Episodes

When is the The Good Doctor Season 3 Episode 9 release date? » Watch The Good Doctor Mondays at 10pm/9c on ABC » Starring: Freddie Highmore, Richard Schiff

The Good Doctor 3×09 « Incomplete » Season 3 Episode 9 Promo – Shaun is ready for the next step in his relationship with Carly; however, he continues to struggle as they grow closer and more intimate, and is dealt some troubling news about a deeply personal issue. Meanwhile, a young patient must decide on a treatment that could save her life or possibly destroy her marriage on an original episode of “The Good Doctor,” Monday, November 25th, on ABC. Episodes can also be viewed the next day on ABC.com, the ABC app and Hulu.

Meaww.com ‘The Good Doctor’ Season 3 Episode 9 Preview: Will Morgan’s health issues become a roadblock in her career? Dr Morgan Reznick is a person that inspires and annoys at the same time. Her cut-and-dried attitude often comes across as rude and improper to her colleagues and even patients.

She is known to be highly ambitious, often to the extent of being aggressive, and will leave no stone unturned to meet her goals. She is not the kind of woman to accept defeat or failure at work, in life, and always holds high expectations from herself.

Although she tends to be a little harsh, we have learned over the course of time that she is just being candid, and often intends well. When it comes to her work, she comes across as a perfectionist and ensures she does a good job. But life always has something up its sleeve for even people like Morgan and she faced the brunt of her bad luck recently.

In Episode 8, we discovered that she is suffering from the early onset of rheumatoid arthritis. The chronic condition affects joints, bones but also tends to affect other body functions like vision, respirations, heart health, etc. The continual inflammation tends to inhibit normal day-to-day tasks.

As self-aware she is, Morgan initially tries to hide her condition and manages to carry on. But when it starts interfering with her surgery, she seeks counsel and medical assistance from Dr Glassman. This is when we see Morgan’s vulnerable side. She is terrified but tries to camouflage it under her strong exteriors.

Morgan feels her ailment might become a threat to her rising career at St Bonaventure Hospital. She has completed three years of residency and is all set to take on her first lead surgery. But if her body cannot keep up to its regular functions, she might just lose it all, and all her efforts of the last three years would be in vain. Seeing Morgan constantly battling within herself makes us wonder if her health issues can become detrimental to her work and life.

As one of the strongest characters on the show, we expect her to come out of this storm and stand tall against all odds. As much as we love to despise her at times, this turn of events in Morgan Reznick’s life is making us empathetic towards her and we can only hope that her career doesn’t take a backseat.

‘The Good Doctor’ Season 3 airs every Monday at 10.30 pm only on ABC.

Watch The Good Doctor Season 3 Episode 9 Online Free Streaming, Watch The Good Doctor Season 3 Episode 9 Online Full Streaming In HD Quality, Let’s go to watch the latest episodes of your favorite series, The Good Doctor Season 3 Episode 9. come on join us!!

While trying to decipher The Monitor’s mission, Oliver returns to Starling City where he encounters familiar faces. Meanwhile, Mia and William’s team clash with a new foe. All About The Series Watchmen is an American superhero television series developed by Greg Berlanti, Marc Guggenheim, and Andrew Kreisberg based on the DC Comics character Green Watchmen, a costumed crime-fighter created by Mort Weisinger and George Papp, and is set in the Watchmenverse, sharing continuity with other Watchmenverse television series. The series premiered in the United States on The CW on October 10, 2012, with international broadcasting taking place in late 2012 and primarily filmed in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. Watchmen follows billionaire playboy Oliver Queen (Stephen Amell), who claimed to have spent five years shipwrecked on Lian Yu, a mysterious island in the North China Sea, before returning home to Starling City (later renamed “Star City”) to fight crime and corruption as a secret vigilante whose weapon of choice is a bow and Watchmen. #133Movies Watch Online The Good Doctor Season 3 Episode 9: Complete Episodes Free Online Strengthens Crusaders and mountan Moorish commanders rebelled against the corrupt British crown. How long have you fallen asleep during The Good Doctor Season 3 Episode 9 Episode? The music, the story, and the message are phenomenal in The Good Doctor Season 3 Episode 9. I have never been able to see another episode five times like I did this. Come back and look for the second time and pay attention. Watch The Good Doctor Season 3 Episode 9 WEB-DL Episodes This is losing less lame files from streaming The Good Doctor Season 3 Episode 9, like Netflix, Amazon Video. Hulu, Crunchy roll, DiscoveryGO, BBC iPlayer, etc. These are also episodes or TV shows that are downloaded through online distribution sites, such as iTunes. The quality is quite good because it is not re-encoded. Video streams (H.264 or H.265) and audio (AC3 / The Good Doctor Season 3 Episode 9) are usually extracted from iTunes or Amazon Video and then reinstalled into the MKV container without sacrificing quality. Download Euphoria Episode Season 1 Episode 5 One of the streaming episodes. Watch The Good Doctor Season 3 Episode 9 Miles Morales conjures his life between being a middle school student and becoming The Good Doctor Season 3 Episode 9. However, when Wilson “Kingpin” Fiskuses as a super collider, another Captive State from another dimension, Peter Parker, accidentally ended up in the Miles dimension. When Peter trained the Miles to get better, Spider-Man, they soon joined four other The Good Doctor Season 3 Episode 9 from across the “Spider-Verse”. Because all these conflicting dimensions begin to destroy Brooklyn, Miles must help others stop Fisk and return everyone to their own dimensions.

[30somethingrookrookie-blog]

Days minus-4 through 0: Introductions

Thursday (day “minus four”): My best friend found himself in a hospital burn unit after a cooking accident.  With temporarily immobilized hands and feet from skin grafts, and his immediate family out of state with other commitments, he wasn’t going to be able to do much on his own.  I came by to stay at least through Sunday morning, in order to help him with food, drink, lip balm, and just generally keep him company.

While the burns had been healing somewhat well, he had just had his skin graft performed when I came in.  He was in immense pain, reporting that his thighs (the skin donor area) hurt worse than the actual burn sites.  They kept him under heavy painkillers and he faded in and out of both sleep and lucidity.  While he appreciated the company when he was able to talk, he spent more time out of it than in.  I realized quickly that I would definitely want to find something to focus on during the times when I wasn’t needed, because I planned to be there for a while.

Now I had played chess on-and-off before.  I had the chess.com app on my phone to mess with casually, and even was briefly on my middle school chess team a couple decades ago.  But, I had never taken it even slightly “seriously” and still considered myself an absolute beginner.  I had checked “Bobby Fischer Teaches Chess” out from libraries a couple times in my twenties and was loosely familiar with things like forks, pins, and checkmating a king when he was all by himself on the back row, but never learned to apply any of it, so really, my level of play was always “probably beat someone who just learned the rules, and literally nobody else.”

What had brought me back around to chess was an ad I saw in an idle game I was playing for an app called “Magnus Trainer”, which seemed to be a chess training app released with the blessing of a notable player (who I would soon find out is the current World #1 and World Champion, Magnus Carlsen from Norway).  I went looking for it in the app store, found two programs with this guy on it: the “Trainer” I was looking for, and also a cute program called “Play with Magnus” that offered simulations of the Champion at various stages of his life.  I installed both, because it sounded a lot of fun to play against the 5-year-old version of a future world champ.

I poked around both of the Magnus apps and the chess.com app for a little bit, and then watched some TV with my friend.  The cable selection was extremely basic (no FX, no Cartoon Network, only ESPN for sports channels), so we found ourselves watching lighthearted programming that was easy to watch back-to-back, like TruTV’s prank show “Impractical Jokers” and the CW’s stage magic showcases “Masters of Illusion” and “Penn And Teller: Fool Us”.  The nurses were reticent to give him heavier painkiller doses, because of the risk of respiration difficulties, but he was eventually able to get off to an uneasy sleep, and I found myself drifting off in the recliner.

Yowza, I’m starting to notice I’m using a ton of brand names on this.  I promise I’m not being endorsed by anyone to make a stupid blog about being a 30something chess newbie, or to trick anyone into watching dumb TV shows or downloading free-to-play apps.

Day -3 (Friday): Friend was in a lot of pain still, but his respiration rates had stabilized, and they were able to give him some of those unspellable medications they have.  I found myself with a lot of free time between the moments he was able to get up, and decided to really crack into the lessons on the Magnus Trainer app.  It started off with super-basic lessons that amounted to drills practicing the pieces’ moves and captures, and gradually increased in difficulty so slowly I hadn’t yet noticed it was happening.  Some of the “games” in the lessons seemed especially bizarre - there was one where you were moving around trying to escape from a “monster” piece which slowly floated around in real time.  The challenge would increase when it would as you to pick up “keys” on certain squares as you fled, and then to play as pieces that are increasingly difficult to get to those particular squares, such as knights.

I was having a good time and felt more confident, so I tried playing the Play With Magnus game.  Happily I discovered that the biographies for the first few difficulty levels (Ages 5, 5 1/2, 6, and 6 1/2) indicated that they all took place before he developed a particular interest in playing chess, and mostly talked about his hobbies at the time (soccer, geography trivia, and books about pirates).  I tried a few games against ages 5 and 5 1/2 and found that he would often make completely erratic moves, failing to capture in obvious exchanges or just leaving pieces completely en prise (fancypants chess talk for “just sitting there so you can straight up snatch em up).  A few wins boosted my confidence further, and I went back into the Trainer app, completing all of the sessions marked Basic and Easy, and making some headway into Medium.

Day -2 (Saturday): At this point I had started to grow a little obsessed with this Trainer app.  I was sometimes failing tasks, especially on the ones where speed was an issue, and I got determined to keep on plugging through, and at the very least finish all of the Medium sessions before I left the hospital burn ward on Monday.  

Couldn’t sleep at all, except brief nods-off in the recliner that peaked at maybe one hour.  When my friend was asleep, I’d put my headphones in, pop on a podcast (listened to a lot of McElroy family shows in this time, especially Sawbones, My Brother My Brother And Me, Wonderful!, and the backlog of the discontinued Coolgames Inc.), and blast straight into the chess tactics and games.  I found myself beating the ages 6 and 6.5 versions of Play With Magnus (plays somewhat similarly to ages 5 and 5.5, but doesn’t as often decide to just randomly give up the queen or miss an obvious capture).  I was intimidated by the description of age 7, where young Carlsen was motivated by sibling rivalry to defeat his older sister at the game, so I started playing games against the CPU of the chess.com app, which even offered an estimate of the CPU’s Elo level (the score used most commonly to rate a chess player’s overall performance.  a number in the 3-digits is a true beginner; an Elo rating of 2000 in the USCF is considered an Expert, and a professional International Master player holds a FIDE score of no less than 2400).  As that parenthetical aside probably tells you, I ended up doing some research as to what the ranks and rating numbers mean, and what I could expect to know at each stage.  As I played the chess.com app, I noticed that Level 1 (Elo 200) seemed to play full nonsense moves most of the time, and Level 3 (Elo 500) seemed to be the level where it first started really punishing any super obvious blunders I made.  Unfortunately I found myself moving too quickly and leaving valuable pieces en prise, so I ended up going back to tactics in the Trainer.

My goal was to finish all of the Medium lessons by Monday.  I finished them by the end of Saturday and was starting to crack into the last set, the “Hard” ones.  Sleeplessness is a Thing, y’all.

Day -1 (Sunday): Doesn’t matter how many tactics lessons you do, you lose against easy mode CPUs if you leave your queen en prise.  Stop leaving your queen en prise.  Stop leaving your queen en prise.  Stop leaving your queen en prise.  Stop leaving your queen en prise.  Stop leaving your queen en prise.  Stop leaving your queen en prise.  Stop leaving your queen en prise.  Stop leaving your queen en prise.  Stop leaving your queen en prise.  All losses and no mates make Jack a dull boy

Day 0 (Monday / yesterday): Left hospital at 6 PM, confident my friend was once again in good hands.  The next day he was to have his graft sites looked at, and should have regained some of his ability to do things (I will update this tomorrow with his condition).  He was acting like his normal self, and even suggested that the experience might have given him the experiences he needed to go back into standup comedy, which made me happy to hear.  It was what he had wanted to do a decade ago, but politics at some of the local comedy clubs ended up leaving him with a distaste for the scene, and he had quit.  I hope he follows up on that, he’s legitimately a funny and talented guy.

Still starting to make some headway into the Hard section of the Trainer app.  Moved exclusively to playing Play With Magnus on the 7- and 7.5-year-old levels, as level 8 is officially where it jumps to “intermediate” and suggests that the boy had started to put in some serious study, which seems well beyond my point.  Still found myself making reflexive moves without thinking, and moving pieces that were critical to defending other ones.  Currently, my record against this app is 28 wins, 7 ties, and 16 losses, and it rather generously estimates my level of play at 892.

During a game against the Level 3 (Elo 500) chess.com app CPU, I managed to get the game down to a mate-in-1 situation 3 times in the endgame without even noticing.  I will make a separate post about that one, it’s wicked silly.

Day 1: done made me a blog, yeehoo!

I’m trying to figure out what a realistic goal is, if I keep on practicing fairly consistently, where I can try to reach in a month and in a year.  I’m in my early 30s, which is probably way too old to start taking a game seriously and expect to become the best ever, but I do wonder if I can ever make it out of “beginner” and into, I suppose, “chess player” status.

[salty-dawg-entertainment]

Gulf War Syndrome

Gulf War Syndrome (GWS), which is also known as 'Desert Storm Diseases' or simply 'Gulf War Illness', is a collection of symptoms reported by veterans (and civilians like press and government employees) of the first Gulf war since August 1990. Veterans from every country that made up the Coalition forces have been affected. There is even a report relating to military personnel in Kansas developing flu-like symptoms and chemical sensitivities after handling archived documents returned from the Gulf. In the UK, veterans of the 2003 conflict began reporting symptoms, identical to those reported by the first war, shortly after they returned from duty.

The symptoms reported by veterans include:

Fatigue Persistent Headaches Muscle Aches/Pains Neurological Symptoms e.g. tingling and numbness in limbs Cognitive Dysfunction - short term memory loss, poor concentration, inability to take in information Mood and Sleep Disturbances - Depression, Anxiety, Insomnia. Dermatological Symptoms - Skin Rashes, Unusual Hair loss. Respiratory Symptoms - Persistent Coughing, Bronchitis, Asthma Chemical Sensitivities Gastrointestinal Symptoms - Diarrhea, Constipation, Nausea, Bloating. Cardiovascular Symptoms Menstrual Symptoms

You have probably noticed that these symptoms are remarkably similar to those attributed to chronic fatigue syndrome, multiple chemical sensitivities and other environmental illnesses. This similarity hasn't gone unnoticed which is why many people, including healthcare professionals and researchers, are coming to the conclusion that all these illnesses share common causes and etiologies.

There were many factors present in the Gulf during the war that could have played a role in causing illness in those present at the time. It is likely that a combination of a number of these factors together is what led to the illness.

The potential causative factors include:

1. Infectious Diseases - A number of infectious agents were present in the Gulf but medical records generally show that they weren't a major problem for personnel due to extensive precautionary measures. Of cause many infectious agents may lie dormant without causing an acute illness. The most common infectious agents present were thought to be cutaneous leishmaniasis, travelers diarrhea, sandfly fever and malaria.

There is substantial evidence for mycoplasma infection playing a role in veterans illnesses. Mycoplasma can be defined as the smallest organisms lacking cell walls that are capable of self-replication and can cause various diseases in humans. Although usually associated with respitory and urinary disease, mycoplasma are thought by a growing number of medical professionals to be responsible for a number of unexplained symptoms, especially chronic fatigue states. Mycoplasma fermentans has been found in the blood of gulf war veterans at a much higher rate than in the overall population.

The molecular and cellular bases for the invasion of Mycoplasma fermentans from mucosal cells to the bloodstream and its colonization of blood remain unknown.

Also, it remains unclear whether Mycoplasma fermentans infection of white blood cells is transient, intermittent or persistent. It is not clear how these stages influence any disease progression. The invasion of host blood cells by Mycoplasma fermentans is due to inhibition of phagocytosis by a variety of mechanisms, including antiphagocytic proteins such as proteases, phospholipases and by oxygen radicals produced by mycoplasmas."

2. Biological Weapons - Exposure to biological warfare agents has been put forward as a possible causative factor in Gulf war syndrome. No evidence that such an agent was deployed has been found however. Biological weapons agents are also designed to kill rapidly in minute amounts and there were no reported fatalities that could be attributed to this. It should be noted however that Iraq was known to be experimenting with the use of anthrax and an organism responsible for gangrene. There is also the possibility that Iraq deployed biotoxins; toxins produced by living organisms such as bacteria. Endotoxins, those given off when a cell dies, can produce similar effects to chemical toxins/weapons and do not cause infectious disease as a living organism would.

3. Chemical Weapons - As with biological agents, chemical warfare agents have also been suggested. There is more concern here however as it is known that a number of Iraqi facilities containing chemical agents were hit during the air and ground offensives which could have led to low level exposure to Coalition troops. Sarin and Cyclosarin were detected 8 months after the war by a UN inspection team, for example. It is now widely accepted that Iraq had sizeable stockpiles of sarin which could be used in SCUD missile warheads for example. There have been a number of animal studies with subclinical levels of sarin to ascertain whether a possible low level exposure could cause long term injury and illness in veterans. A 2002 study on rats found that low level exposure to sarin for a period of 1 week caused significant suppression of the immune system. Other researchers have had similar findings regarding immune-suppression and also found that low dose sarin "resulted in brain alterations in densities of chlonergic receptor subtypes that may be associated with memory loss and cognitive dysfunction." There is considerable ongoing research into possible CW exposures in all countries involved.

4. Other Chemical Agents - Besides possible exposure to chemical warfare agents, the coalition troops were constantly exposed to chemicals whose use is considered safe. It must be noted however, that they were just the type of chemicals reported to cause symptoms in multiple chemical sensitivity, i.e. volatile organic compounds, mainly hydrocarbons. Some of these chemicals are:

Organophosphate Pesticides Other Chemical Pesticides Pyridostigmine Bromide - A drug given to troops to counteract chemical warfare agents CARC - Chemical Agent Resistant Coating painted on vehicles Various Petroleum based products like diesel and JP4 fuel used in tent heaters and cooking stoves and used on the ground to stop the sand from blowing. Decontamination Solution 2 - contains propylene glycol, monomethyl ether, and ethylene glycol Organophosphate Pesticides - It is well known that exposure to high concentrations of organophosphate pesticides is harmful.

There have been a number of studies designed to find out if exposure to moderate amounts of these chemicals, as many gulf war veterans were, can also damage health. Most studies have found that exposure to moderate amounts can indeed result in increased incidence of neurological symptoms and changes in neurobehavioral performance, reflecting cognitive and psychomotor dysfunction. Some researchers feel that these findings of low level cognitive dysfunction could also explain the fatigue experienced by sick veterans .

Other Chemical Pesticides - Most studies have focused on the potential effects of organophosphate based pesticides but some have also found neurotoxic effects from other pesticides, including fungicides, fumigants, and organochlorine and carbamate insecticides. Many pesticides have also been implicated in an increased risk for developing Parkinson's disease. The similarities between this disease and the cognitive dysfunction in gulf war syndrome has not escaped a number of researchers.

Pyridostigmine Bromide - Commonly referred to as the "Nerve Gas Pill", pyridostigmine bromide was given to servicemen in the gulf to protect them against nerve gas attack. However, pyridostigmine bromide also has toxic effects itself due to its inhibition of the enzyme cholinesterase. This causes acetylcholine to have a prolonged effect which can result in over activation of the parasympathetic nervous system. This type of over activation results in a number of unpleasant effects such as respiratory and muscular problems. Of particular importance is the fact that stress, more specifically the adrenaline response, is known to increase the toxicity of Pyridostigmine Bromide. In epidemiological studies, Pyridostigmine Bromide consumption has been shown to correlate with sickness during and after the war, with higher consumption meaning a higher risk of sickness. It's thought that PB may compromise health and contribute to gulf war syndrome by triggering autoimmune responses, particularly in the nervous system, as a result of its toxicity.

CARC - Chemical agent resistant coating is a specialized form of automobile paint, designed to prevent chemical warfare agents leaching into a vehicle's finish. According to manufacturers data sheets, chronic overexposure to the paint's vapour can lead to asthma-like symptoms. Prolonged exposure can permanently damage the brain, nervous system, liver and kidneys. CARC is also known to cause hypersensitivity pneumonitis, with symptoms of fever, muscle aches, headaches, malaise and shortness of breath.

Fuel - Gulf war veterans often recall an association between diesel and petrochemical fume exposure and symptoms during service. Many suspect these exposures may be the cause of their ongoing health complaints after the war. Recently researchers have sought to determine if this could be the case. A 2004 study exposed 12 sick gulf war veterans, who complained of chemical sensitivities, and 19 healthy gulf war vets, to controlled 5 parts per million diesel fumes. The researchers monitored the participants symptoms, odor ratings, neurobehavioral performance, and psychophysiologic responses. The results of the experiment showed that the sick gulf war veterans reported significantly increased symptoms such as disorientation and dizziness and displayed significantly reduced end-tidal CO(2) just after the onset of exposure. End tidal CO(2) indicates the amount of CO(2) exhaled per breath and is a measure of respiration rate and also of blood flow. Decreased end tidal CO(2) therefore indicates decreased respiration and blood flow which would account for feelings of disorientation and dizziness. As exposure increased over time, sick veterans reported significantly increased symptoms of respiratory discomfort and general malaise and were also physiologically less responsive to behavioral tasks administered during, but not before exposure, comparted to the healthy controls. The researchers concluded that diesel fumes did indeed worsen the sick veterans condition and this was caused by both physiological and psychological mechanisms.

Decontamination Solutions - Decontamination solutions were widely used in the gulf to sterilize vehicles, equipment etc. The decontamination agent used most widely in the first gulf war was decontamination solution 2 (DS-2). DS-2 is an effective decontamination agent but is highly caustic and is known to damage equipment, pollute the environment and cause personal injury, according to experts. As a result DS-2 is no longer deemed safe to use and thousands of gallons are sitting in stockpile. Although there is little research involving this chemical in gulf war veterans, it is possible or even probably that it contributed to the symptoms experienced by veterans.

5. Oil Well Fire Smoke - The retreating Iraqi army ignited approximately 600 oil wells in February 1991 which burned for about 9 months. These fires produced massive amounts of thick smoke which sometimes drifted to ground level causing increased exposure to ground troops. When this occurred the air pollution was far greater than would be experienced in the average traffic congested western city. Questionnaires filled in by US troops indicated higher rates of eye and upper respiratory tract irritation, shortness of breath, cough, rashes, and fatigue than unexposed troops. The smoke from oil well fires contained a cocktail of chemicals, notably, benzene, hydrogen sulfide and sulfur dioxide as well as quantities of particulate matter. The latter two chemicals can cause eye and nose irritation, decreased pulmonary function, and increased airway reactivity. Particulate matter is associated with increased rates of asthma and can exacerbate other chronic respiratory conditions.

Benzene is a a volatile organic compound that is implicated in triggering symptoms in multiple chemical sensitivity. Benzene exposure fits with a number of theories that aim to explain the etiology of multiple chemical sensitivity. Dr. Martin Pall, who has conducted extensive research into the causes of medical chemical sensitivity, explains that elevated nitric oxide levels in the brains of medical chemical sensitivity sufferers may play a significant role in their symptoms. Benzene, along with other common medical chemical sensitivity triggers such as formaldehyde and organochlorine pesticides, increases levels of nitric oxide. Another leading theory suggests that upon acute exposure to high levels, or chronic exposure to lower levels, of certain chemicals, the limbic system of the brain can become sensitized. Subsequent exposure to minute amounts of the chemicals may then cause activation of the limbic system and resulting symptoms. Experiments on rats have proven this to be the case with certain hydrocarbons, a class of chemicals to which benzene belongs.

6. Vaccinations - Troops sent to the Gulf were given a large cocktail of vaccinations in a short period of time. In total, US servicemen may have received as many as 17 different vaccines, including live vaccines (polio and yellow fever) as well as experimental vaccines that had not been approved (anthrax, botulinum toxoid) and were of doubtful efficacy .

A large 2002 study of 900 veterans found a strong correlation between the anthrax vaccine and subsequent ill health. The study indicated that those who received anthrax vaccines reported more adverse reactions than those who did not receive the anthrax vaccine. It also found that the more severe any initial reaction to the vaccine was, the more severe long term health effects were.

A lot of recent research has involved studying the effects of vaccines that use pertussis, the bacteria responsible for whooping cough, as an adjunct. It has been proposed that the use of pertussis as an adjuvant could trigger neuro-degeneration by increasing secretion of certain immune chemicals, such as interleukin-1beta, in the brain. In turn, brain lesions may be sustained by stress or neurotoxic chemical combinations Pertussis vaccine was used in the gulf "off-label", which means it wasn't approved to be used on servicemen as it was. It's use in the gulf war can thus be classed as experimental. The manufacturers of pertussis were not advised of this unlicensed use.

Dr. Philip F. Incao of Denver, Colorado provides what may be an explanation of why some people given this cocktail of vaccinations remained healthy while the health of others was sent into decline resulting in chronic illness. Dr. Incao explains that the immune system and mechanism by which vaccinations work, is much more complicated than was thought until recently. Rather than stimulating the whole immune system against a certain pathogen, vaccinations only stimulate the humoral, or Th2, branch of the immune system which is responsible for producing antibodies that recognize pathogens as invaders. Over activation of the Th2 mediated immune response leads to allergic and autoimmune disease. Dr. Incao suggests that giving vaccinations to people whose immune systems are already Th2 dominant will exacerbate exiting conditions and may lead to what we know as Gulf war syndrome. A large body of research seems to confirm this, showing that those veterans with gulf war syndrome tend to have an immune system shifted towards a Th2 response.

7. Depleted Uranium - During the Gulf war, depleted uranium was used for the first time, both in vehicle armor and offensive munitions, as well as in various other components of vehicles and other equipment. It was used widely due to it being cheap and widely available as a by-product of nuclear energy and nuclear weapon production. In Operation Desert Storm over 350 metric tons of Depleted Uranium was used, with an estimate of 3-6 million grams released in the atmosphere. Inhaling particles of depleted uranium may have contributed to sickness after the war due to Depleted Uranium's chemical and radiological toxicity and mutagenic and carcinogenic properties. Internal contamination with inhaled Depleted Uranium has been demonstrated by the elevated excretion of uranium isotopes in the urine of the exposed veterans 10 years after the Gulf war. Further research of veterans who were struck by shrapnel containing Depleted Uranium show that the Depleted Uranium continues to leech out of the shrapnel for at least a decade with a resulting increase in the concentration of Depleted Uranium in body tissues over this time. This research showed that the accumulation of Depleted Uranium in the kidneys was associated with increased incidence of functional kidney disease.

It should be noted that many detractors cite reports that exposures to any single one of the factors listed above were mostly within levels considered safe. These "safe" levels however, do not take into account concurrent exposure to numerous other chemicals and other agents. Along with the above, psychological and physical stress may play a major role in the onset of illness. As has been suggested as a mechanism for Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and fibromyalgia, stress, with concurrent exposure to volatile chemicals and infectious agents could cause a physiological change in certain individuals that leads to a spiral of illness. These factors most likely cause changes in the brain and nervous system, immune and endocrine systems. Low level brain damage has been observed in Gulf war veterans as well as in sufferers of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, fibromyalgia, multiple chemical sensitivities, etc.

At no other time have so many people been exposed to such a heavy load of diverse stressors as the coalition forces in the Gulf war. It is little wonder that so many have since fallen victim to ill health. Military equipment is designed for such an environment, the human body, clearly, is not.

Those affected by Gulf War syndrome have struggled for many years to have their health problems recognized as something other than psychological. This has led to a large amount of bitter wrangling over funding for the care of sick veterans. Official opinion however has slowly begun to come around to the fact that veterans are suffering from physical illness as evidence from medical studies has grown.

In March 2008 a US Congress-appointed committee released its findings after analyzing more than 100 studies relating to Gulf War illnesses. The committee concluded that there was a clear link to exposures to specific kinds of chemicals. The chemicals identified included pesticides, the anti-nerve gas drug pyridostigmine bromide, and the nerve-gas sarin that troops may have been exposed to during the demolition of a weapons depot. The committee's chief scientist Dr Beatrice Golomb singled out the acetylcholinesterase inhibitor drugs such as pyridostigmine bromide as having a particularly strong connection to the development of ill-health in veterans. She also revealed that some people appear to be particularly at risk from such chemicals due to genetic variations which impair enzyme function. When exposed these people run a much higher risk for developing symptoms and disease.

Importantly, the committee concluded that Gulf War illnesses are almost certainly physical in nature, Dr. Golomb commenting that "Psychological stressors are inadequate to account for the excess illness seen."